


A Canticle for Saint Dorian

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Misgendering, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future, a young man investigates his family history and happens upon a strange amulet. Turns out it’s the time traveling amulet and it looks like it just activated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Felix brushed away the sweat that ran down his nose. His dark brown curls were heavy with moisture and dirt, hanging loosely around his face and tickling the back of his neck. The tips of his small horns could barely been seen peeking above his hair. Usually, his curls were puffed up so large that they swallowed them whole, leaving most people to assume he was fully human. His lover adored his hair; he once described it as a “chocolate cloud” before burying his face in it, nuzzling his scalp. He had also been laid up after a work accident and had currently been under the influence of pain medication. Felix smiled at the memory as he sifted through the dirt, ignoring the blaring horns and string of curses from the mid-morning traffic. His grin grew larger when he spied his prize. Felix plucked another marble from the ground for the pile he had already collected. It was a simple child’s toy, roughly cut but worn smooth from years of small fingers running across its surface.

A shadow fell over him. “Huh. Don’t see what’s so important about a rock.”

Felix groaned, rolling his neck and wincing slightly as it popped. “We still have another eight hours.”

He didn’t see Jason grin, but he could feel it just the same. “Yeah, and then it’s boom time.”

With a huff Felix pulled himself to his feet, glaring up at the Qunari and squinting as the sun reflected off his bright yellow hard hat. “This could be the find of a century!” He exclaimed, gesturing at the crumbling walls surrounding them. “And you want to tear it down for another shopping center?”

“Hey, I don’t want to tear it down. I just want to get paid. Someone has to. Your job doesn’t pay shit.” Jason shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like it’s that important. There’s hardly anything left. I don’t see how you can make heads or tails out of these bits of rock.”

“They’re not just bits of rock, they’re marbles!” Felix announced, placing one he hand found in the palm of Jason’s hand. It looked so tiny resting there. “Just think: eight hundred years ago, a spoiled, well-loved little girl once held this very same marble in the palm of her hand. Isn’t that amazing?”

Jason looked up at him. “How can you tell it was a girl?”

“We found a lunula – a type of Tevinter amulet made specially to protect newborn daughters from curses – along with a large collection of toys. The amulet would have been enchanted, but the magic’s long worn off. Her name was engraved on the back: Marina.”

“Felix! Felix!” Cara scrambled through the ruin, a wild grin plastered across her face. “We got the door open! It’s amazing, Felix, you have to see this!”

She braced her hands against her knees and took in deep sucking breaths. There was a manic look in her eyes and Felix felt his breath hitch. “Amazing enough to get a reprieve?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Ha! In your face, Jason!”

Jason watched his lover rub his hands together and cackle. “Stop laughing like that. You sound like every Vint villain in a kid’s cartoon.”

“Shows you what you know. I’m a born and bred Fereldan.”

“Nah, if that were true you’d be fucking sheep, not Qunari.”

“Ah, the sheep-fucking jokes.”

“What can I say? I like to stick with the classics.”

“Flirt later, work now,” Cara insisted and all but carried Felix down into a little hole in the ground. Jason followed after them, curious as to what had wound the girl up so much.

The little hole the university crew had dug out led them into a cellar of some sort. Felix looked around in awe. “This would have been an escape route. Most homes along the Tevinter coast had them in case of a Qunari invasion. It looks like it’s been damaged by fire.”

Cara nodded, her grin spreading. “We found bones and a collapsed tunnel. The few objects we discovered date to the time of the Fall of Minrathous. Looks like these poor sods never made it out of the city. But there’s more.”

She led the pair to a row of amphora lined up against the wall. Jason could just barely make out the markings stamped on the side. It looked like a peacock. “Gentlemen,” Cara announced. “We are standing in the house of one Dorian Pavus.”

* * *

Felix leaned in to examine the array of gold objects they discovered in the tunnel. Seven individuals had been identified among the rubble, but the team was still excavating. There could be more. Four elves – most likely servants, as it was noted by several contemporary writers that St. Dorian did not keep slaves – one adult human male, one juvenile female of undetermined origin, and, strangely enough, a Qunari male. The Qunari was interesting. At first the team had suspected that he had been a soldier of the Beresaad who had chased the household down into the tunnel, only to be killed with them when it collapsed. But after investigating a little more, most members of the expedition were convinced that the Qunari was not an invader. They found a broken iron haft lying next to his spine – either from an axe or a staff, they still were not sure – which meant that his weapon had been sheathed when he died. He had been running with him, not after them.

The existence of the Qunari had caused a ripple in the scientific and religious communities, and it all hinged on whether the weapon he had wielded had indeed been an axe or a staff. If it was an axe, then the most likely answer was that he had been another servant, perhaps even a bodyguard. Qunari slaves were rare, but not unheard of. It was not impossible that Dorian Pavus might have acquired one. A staff however… A staff could mean the expedition had found the final resting place of the Herald of Andraste.

The significance was incredible… and dangerous. The Apostolic Chantry believed that the Herald was the reincarnation of the Maker and that when he died he ascended into the Fade, meaning there would not be a body to burn or bury. The Andrastian and Imperial Chantrys both contend that the Herald was just a mortal man, chosen by the Maker perhaps, but still mortal. If the expedition could prove this Qunari was indeed the Herald, why Felix would… well, he would probably have to join the witness protection program, but still- it would be worth it.

It would be so much easier if only the Qunari’s skull were still intact. Only fragments remained, most of it having been crushed by falling debris. Qunari horns were like fingerprints; each one was subtly unique. If they had a full skull they could compare it to pictures of the Herald. As it was, they had to make do with what they had.

Just as exciting to Felix were the remains of the human man and child they found. The human was very well preserved. Aside from a few ribs and his left tibia, the entire skeleton was almost complete. It was very likely that it belonged St. Dorian. Although no one knew exactly how and where he died, St. Dorian disappeared from the historical record after the Fall of Minrathous. Considering the fact that he had been in the city at the time it was conquered, the only likely explanation was that he perished during the invasion. Now they had definite evidence of that.

Finding St. Dorian’s remains also held a personal interest for Felix. Family legend stated that he was their ancestor, but it was little more than conjecture. They had no proof. And there was the fact that all contemporary accounts indicated that St. Dorian did not – and possibly, could not – have children. There were letters from fellow Magisters that slyly referenced his lack of masculinity; the term semiviri was often used in conjunction with St. Dorian’s name, a catch-all term Tevinters used for homosexuals, eunuchs, and sterile men. The exact reason for this was never explicitly explained – but that was Dragon Age Tevinter for you, why bother coming out and saying what you meant when you could write four pages talking around the elephant in the room? – but it is known that he had no heirs.

But if the man in question was St. Dorian and the child his daughter – possibly even this “Marina” Felix had found evidence of – then that would disprove the theory that he had remained childless all his life. He may not have had any heirs, but he still could have produced bastards. First they had to determine if the man was in fact St. Dorian, and then compare his DNA with the child’s. The actual race of the girl had not yet been determined, but that was not particularly worrying. The skeletons of human children were nearly indistinguishable from their elvhen counterparts, and if the girl was an elfblooded bastard then that could make things even more confusing. Bones had never been Felix’s expertise. He would just have to wait for the results to come in.

In the meantime, Felix busied himself with sorting through the valuables they had discovered among the bones. A heavy, gold-leafed box was found beside one of the elvhen skeletons- he must have been carrying it when he died. Inside they discovered precious trinkets, jewelry, money, and items of sentimental value. There was a mourning ring inscribed in Tevene- “In Memoriam Livia Alexius.” A later inscription, in a different hand, someone included the name “Felix Alexius.” Another ring, this one topped with the tip of a dragon’s tooth. But what had caught Felix’s eye was a strange-looking amulet.

He had never seen anything like it. He could neither place the date of make nor the country of origin. It was blocky and strangely shaped. At first, he thought it might have been dwarven, but it was too irregular. Dwarven craftsmanship was always symmetrical, no matter the era. The university insisted that all potentially enchanted objects were to be handled with gloves, but it seemed the magic had not survived. Whatever it was meant to do, it was inert now. It hadn’t reacted to any of the tests the team had put it through.

Felix held it up to the light, hoping to make sense of the rings carved into the surface. He had just noticed how oddly warm it was when it started to glow.

“Well, shit,” he said before a flash of green light blinded him.

* * *

Rough gravel pressed hard into his cheek. Felix gasped and coughed, his mind swimming. Hot ash covered his throat, burning the inside of his mouth. People were screaming. Felix opened his eyes and blearily sat up. He was sitting in the middle of a cobblestone street. Thousands of people swarmed around him, screaming as they tried to avoid the flames that sprouted from the roof of every house. The sounds of explosions rocketed through the air, leaving his ears ringing. What was going on? Where was he?

He didn’t understand. Somewhere in the back of his mind Felix recognized the clothes the people wore: mid-Dragon Age, Tevinter style. The buckles were distinctive. But his brain could not process why they were wearing such ridiculous outfits.

There was Qunari standing not far from him, with horns wider than he had ever seen. Like a rock in the middle of a raging river, he was a fortress against the chaos. More Qunari appeared, charging at him. These were dressed like soldiers of the Beresaad. The first Qunari raised his axe, bringing it crashing down and embedding it in the head of one of his fellows. He tried to pull it out, but it was lodged in the skull and with a loud crack! the axehead splintered and broke off from the haft.

The second soldier took the opportunity to rush the now defenseless man. He had barely taken a step forward when he was suddenly encased in ice.

A mage stood before him, in one arm he held a little girl and in the other his staff, still half-raised. With an exhausted sigh it let it drop and leaned heavily against it. The first Qunari rounded on him, anger and fear twisting his features. “I told you to save your mana!” He snapped. “Keep the barriers up for you and Mari. I’ll be fine.”

Felix shook his head, trying to make sense of everything. He understood the words, but they didn’t sound right. They were… Tevene. They were speaking Tevene. Nobody spoke Tevene anymore. It was a dead language. Everyone in Tevinter spoke Antivan.

The mage bristled, too tired for a fight but ready for one just the same, “If you think I’m going to let-”

But the Qunari was no longer looking at him, his gaze traveling past his shoulder to stare at Felix. The mage’s tirade faltered mid-sentence as he followed the other man’s line of sight. “Felix?” The mage asked. “What are you doing here?”

Before Felix could answer, a strange whistling sound filled the air.

“Get down!” The Qunari screamed. Felix felt his big hand wrap around the back of his robes and all but throw him into the side of the building. The Tevinter mage huffed as he landed next to Felix, the little girl in his arms shaking with silent fear. She couldn’t have been more than two, her horns were only as big as Felix’s, tiny little nubs poking up above her jet-black hair. The light from the fire was suddenly blotted out as the big Qunari braced himself above them, covering all three of them with his body. A bright green barrier fell over Felix’s eyes just before a wave of fire and heat and sound washed over them.

* * *

Felix kept his eyes firmly shut. He was dead, he knew it. He could feel the sun shining on his face, a cool breeze. Birds were even chirping. That explosion killed him, and now he was dead and the sun and wind and birds were just something that the Fade conjured for him. So long as he kept his eyes closed, he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“Beorn? Ábredwe hine?”

He didn’t know those words. That was wrong. The Fade didn’t work like that. It didn’t matter what language you spoke, the Fade translated everything. Felix snapped his eyes open and came face to face with a young elf woman and a Qunari man. He was different than the one Felix had seen fighting just a few moments before. His horns curled up into a crescent half-moon shape, a little like the Herald of Andraste, if all those stained glass windows were to be believed. He didn’t seem hostile; if anything, he looked amused.

Movement caught his eye and Felix turned to look. It was the mage, without the little girl. His clothes were different and his hair was shorter. He spoke again, but Felix couldn’t understand what he was saying. It sounded almost familiar, but not quite right.

The mage tried again, this time the words were lilting. Almost Orlesian, but again too off and far removed from anything Felix had ever heard. Indecipherable.

“Tevene?” The mage finally asked. “Do you speak Tevene?”

“Yes!” Felix blurted out and relief washed over him. He understood! And to think his mother had laughed at him when he told her he was going to minor in Tevene. Useless waste of time, his ass. “Yes, I speak Tevene!”

The mage looked almost… disappointed. “Oh, a fellow countryman then. That would explain it.”

“Explain what?” Felix asked.

The mage cocked his brow. “You fell out of a rift. Are you saying you didn’t know? Falling out of rifts isn’t the usual way to travel.”

“What?” His voice came out high and squeaky.

The Qunari said something then and the mage replied. No, not replied. Argued. “What?” Felix asked again, his voice rising higher and higher. “What?”

The mage broke away from the Qunari and turned to him. “You’re being taken in for questioning.”

“Questioning? Questioning for what?”

“On the Venatori and how you managed to just tumble out of a rift. Usually the only things that come crawling out of those are demons. And the Herald, upon occasion. Not confused Tevinters.”

“Fereldan,” Felix stated. “I’m Fereldan.”

“You’re the strangest Fereldan I ever met.” The mage sighed. “I can’t promise you that no harm will come to you, but if you cooperate the Herald will be lenient. Kaaras is not a cruel man. He will listen. If it helps, I don’t believe you to be Venatori.”

Of course he wasn’t Venatori. The Venatori hadn’t existed for centuries. This was crazy. This was a dream. He was not sitting in the middle of a field with the Herald of Fucking Andraste standing over him. He hadn’t been thrown back into the past. Nope, nope.

“Shit!”


	2. Chapter 2

Felix thumped his head against the wall, his horns barely scratching the stone. This was just great. He liked studying history, thank you, didn’t mean he wanted to live it. There was a chamber pot in the corner of his cell. A chamber pot! Indoor plumbing wouldn’t become widespread on the surface until another three centuries when Orzammar finally succumbed to the darkspawn and the remaining dwarfs migrated above, bringing with them their technology. In the meantime, Felix had to shit in a chamber pot. Maker, he might die of dysentery before ever reaching home.

If only he hadn’t dropped that damn amulet. It was still lying on the street in Minrathous, probably crushed now underneath the boot of the Antaam. Or, at least, it will be in another five years or so. Even if he was allowed to leave his cell to retrieve the amulet, it wouldn’t be there yet. Why is time travel so complicated?

Felix thumped his head again and turned to look into the cell across from him. There was an old man kneeling in front of his bed, his hands clasped in prayer. He hadn’t moved for the better part of an hour. He looked Tevinter, if his clothes were any indication. “Hello!” Felix called out. “What are you in here for?”

The man ignored him.

“I’m having a terrible day, let me tell you. So, there I was, minding my own business when suddenly I-”

“I have no desire to listen to your prattle,” the man snapped tiredly. “We chose our master, now we must suffer the consequences. In silence.”

“Master? Yeah, I don’t have one of those. Well, not unless you count Professor d'Auvergne. He once used me as wyvern bait on a dig in Orlais. Such is the life of a graduate student.”

The man finally looked up at him. “You’re not a part of the Venatori? What are you doing here then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. My name’s Felix Bullock. Not Bullcock, but Bullock. You won’t believe how many jokes I had to suffer through in primary school because of that.”

The man’s face grew soft. “Felix. That was my son’s name.”

“Was?” Felix asked.

“He died a couple of months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Felix rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of something to say. “Felix is an old family name. I’ve got three cousins named Felix, an uncle, and my grandmother is Felicia.”

“It’s the same with ours. My grandfather was called Felix Aristippus Hieronymus Alexius. Even in Tevinter, that’s a bit of a mouthful.” The man grew ponderous. “Your accent is very strange. Where are you from? You’re not a mage, I can tell, so you are not an Altus or a Laetan, but I would not think you a Soporati either. Your Tevene is precise and educated, even if it is a little odd.”

Felix wondered at how much he should say. On the one hand, this man was an admitted Venatori. On the other, what did it matter? He didn’t believe it would change the past. If he changed the past, then he would never discover the amulet and go back in time to make the changes, and then the past would never be changed and… now Felix was confused again. 

Before Felix could decide, green light began to creep into the edges of his vision. He didn’t need to see the awe and confusion on the old man’s face to know what was happening behind him. “Maker damn it.” Felix threw up his hands with a huff. “Just fuck me up, I guess.”

* * *

Felix reappeared inside a bedroom. It was kind of a scary bedroom. There was an axe embedded in the bedpost and a large hole took up most of the ceiling. Also, was that a wheel of cheese just lying under the bed? What kind of person lived here?

A deep rumbling laugh floated through the door and Felix realized that he was about to find out. Panic flooded his mind and without thought he dove beneath the bed just as the door creaked open. He didn’t want to meet anyone who owned this many knives.

He could hear another man, his voice cool and dark, but there was a hint of a smile to it. With a jolt, he realized it was the same Tevinter mage he had met twice now. He didn’t understand the words he was speaking, but now that he knew where (and, more importantly, when) he was, he at least knew the language: Old Trade. It was strange how a language could change so much in a handful of centuries. The Trade Felix spoke was completely unrecognizable to the people of the Dragon Age, and vice versa.

Felix peeked out from beneath the bed. A pair of boots, too massive to belong to a human, were inches away from his nose. Par Vollen in style, pre-Invasion. Even if Felix wasn’t an expert in medieval textiles, he’d recognize a Qunari when he saw one, even if it was just his foot. He remembered coming home to his apartment one evening to find that Jason had taken it upon himself to do a little spring cleaning. He had stuck all of Felix’s shoes inside his own work boots – to “save closet space” he claimed – and there was still room left over. 

“Dorian, c'mere,” the Qunari spoke, this time in Tevene. His accent was surprisingly flawless.

Felix’s brain came to a screeching holt, blocking out everything else as his thoughts centered on that one name: Dorian. Not a common name outside of Tevinter, and at Skyhold, the Herald of Fucking Andraste’s own castle, that could only be St. Dorian. Felix bit the inside of his hoodie to keep from squealing out loud.

Then he noticed the very strange noises coming from above him. The sounds of clothes rustling, heavy breathing, lips pressing against one another.

Well, at least Felix now knew why Dorian had earned the title of semiviri.

The bed dipped dangerously low as the Qunari settled on it, followed by St. Dorian, and Felix tried not the panic. St. Dorian was about to fuck a Qunari on a bed with Felix underneath him. If the Maker didn’t send him to the Void for this, nothing would. Felix wasn’t exactly pious. He was a lapsed Andrastian and hadn’t attended Mass in years, unless his grandmother asked then he went every week because there was no way he was going to admit the truth so long as she was alive. He might not even admit it when she died, just in case she came back from the dead and dragged him into the nearest Chantry by the tip of his horn. Felicia Bullock was a firm believer that St. Dorian took special care of their family, that he was their patron saint. She invoked him for everything. Just last week she asked St. Dorian to pray for her at the used car lot and not to let the Antivan salesman sell her a junker while the man was standing right there. He could almost hear his grandmother’s voice even now: O glorious Apostle, Saint Dorian, who by reason of thy fervent and generous heart was chosen by the Herald to be witness to the Maker’s glory on Mount Skyhold.

“You like that, don’t you?” The Qunari growled. Felix could hear St. Dorian moan in response. “Yeah, you’re gagging for it. Do you want me to lay you down, tongue your hole open and spread you wide on my thick cock? Fuck you until you’re loose and sloppy and leaking with my cum?”

Yep. Felix was definitely going to the Void. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred sovereigns.

The rustling above him suddenly stopped. “Bull, what is it?” St. Dorian asked.

The Qunari – Bull – shushed him and said something quietly in Old Trade. He stood up from the bed and stalked around the room, his large feet making barely any noise. He knows I’m here, Felix thought wildly. He was dead man. He was dead, dead, dea-

He was on a roof.

Felix clutched the parapet as a wave of nausea overcame him. He stared down at the deep valley below and tried not to hurl at the sight. A door opened to his right and a hooded, red-haired woman peeked out. “Ah, Felix. Back again, I see.”

So, not dead. At least, not yet.

* * *

Felix popped in randomly over the course of a week. At least, for him it was a week. For the Herald and his Apostles, Felix’s random appearances was spread out over three years. St. Dorian was fascinated with his condition, as was St. Dagna of the Forge. Every time he showed up, they would haul him down into the Undercroft for “tests.” Felix was less pleased. Occasionally it wasn’t too bad. There was that one time when he appeared in the middle of an orgy at the Winter Palace, that was fun. The time he fell three feet into the soldiers’ latrine, not so much. 

At the moment, there seemed to be a lull in his condition. He had managed to go 48 hours without disappearing, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He devoured everything he could get his hands on, drank two mugs of the foulest ale he had ever had the displeasure of tasting and ordered another one. Felix didn’t know when his next meal would be. St. Dorian, St. Cremisius, and the Iron Bull looked on in horrified amusement. 

“So, let me get this straight,” St. Cremisius said. “In-between our age and yours, another Chantry pops up and it worships the Inquisitor and all of us as his apostles?” 

Felix nodded. “Yes, although the other two Chantries certainly venerate the Herald and his Apostles too, just not on the same level as Andraste. The Apostolic Chantry has this weird Trinity thing going on with the Maker, Andraste, and the Herald. I never really understood that part.” 

“Okay, but why am I considered an apostle and saint? The Altus I can understand, but me? I’ve had a few drinks with the Inquisitor, sure, but we’re not bosom buddies. He’s my boss’s boss.”

“It’s been more than eight hundred years. Some things get muddled. I’m surprised with how much we got right, to be honest. In the case of you and the Iron Bull… well, a lot got muddled.” 

“What do you mean by that?” The Bull asked.

Felix flushed. “Oh, well, er. There are more written records on St. Cremisius than there are of you-”

“Understandable. Krem’s often the go-between. Clients see me, they get scared.”

“And the two or three times that your name does appear,” Felix continued. “Well, we all just assumed ‘The Iron Bull’ was the name of St. Cremisius’s maul.”

St. Cremisius and St. Dorian took one look at each other and started to howl with laughter. The Iron Bull flatly stared down at Felix. Felix threw up his hands. “Hey, it’s not our fault! The Iron Bull isn’t really the sort of name someone would give a person, is it? Besides, you’re not the only one who got shafted. We had no idea Sera even existed and my colleagues still think St. Cremisius’s ashes belong to his wife!”

St. Cremisius wiped the tears from his face, his face still beet red. “Eh? What was that? I get a wife?”

“Your ashes. We found your tomb a few years ago and an urn with your name. We extracted a DNA sample from a tooth we found inside, but it came back belonging to a female. So, we assumed you had a wife and the ashes were hers. But now that I know…” Felix trailed off and waved his hand awkwardly. He could see from the blank expressions on their faces that they didn’t understand what he saying.

“Krem’s a man,” the Iron Bull said, his voice insistent like he was preparing for a fight.

“Yes, he is!” Felix quickly replied. “But machines are stupid.”

“Well, I better get back to the Undercroft. Solas is supposed to be joining us this time,” Dorian announced as he stood up.

“Solas?” Felix perked up. “We thought he was a myth!”

Dorian sighed. “I wish.”

“His story seemed pretty suspicious to us, but the Maker knows you can’t tell the Apostolic Chantry that. It's just too similar to that of an old elvhen god- Fen'Harel. Betrays the Herald, turns into a wolf, leads him into the Fade to imprison him, all that. We thought Solas was a later addition, an attempt to blend the two religions.”

“It seems like that’s still mostly the case. I’m afraid he’s much more disappointing in person. I will see you later. Maybe.” St. Dorian picked up his books, his fingers brushing along the Bull’s arm as he went.

As soon as Dorian was gone, the Bull turned his single eye on him. “So, where is the amulet now? You never said.”

Felix swallowed his broth thickly, taking his time to chew over a piece of meat as he thought of what he could say. He couldn’t tell him the truth. Time travel was complicated enough as it was without him mucking things about like giving the Iron Bull information about the single most devastating event Tevinter ever suffered years in advance. Saving lives was a nice thought, but how would that play out in the future? Perhaps someone who was supposed to die in Minrathous survives because of him, and their descendant later grows up to be the next Corypheus. Felix shrugged and looked away, “I must have dropped it during one of my hops.”

The Bull narrowed his eye. He knew he was lying.

Thankfully, the next second Felix was no longer sitting in the tavern, but standing in a crowd at the Winter Palace as Inquisition soldiers marched past him. At least he managed to hold onto his bowl this time, he thought as he happily munched on his broth.

* * *

“The Inquisitor tells me you’ve managed to last four whole days now!” St. Dorian said with a smile. “I think whatever happened to you must be wearing off. Hopefully your good luck will last. I’ve only just arrived and I’d rather not have you popping off so soon.”

Felix turned, ready to greet his friend as he came through the gates of the Winter Palace, only to stop short as he stared at the little bundle in his arms. The babe was fast asleep, her dark hair curling around rich brown skin. There was a tell-tale roughness to her forehead. She would be growing in her horns soon. A lunula hung from around her neck, shiny and new. “Ah, you haven’t met my Marina, have you?”

Felix reached out and touched one small hand. “Marina. That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you. It was my grandmother’s name. I wanted to give my daughter a good Tevene name. Bull liked it. It can be shortened to 'Mari’, which apparently means something like 'wise people’ in Qunlat. The literal translation is actually 'the nothing people’- which sounds like a bad thing, in my opinion, but Bull assures me that the Mari are learned and respected scholars in Par Vollen.”

“Wait,” Felix said slowly. “So, she’s your daughter? And Bull’s? Together? How…?”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, that’s an interesting story. See, it all began when-”

And that’s when Felix was pulled out of time.


	3. Chapter 3

Felix coughed and rubbed his face, smearing the hot ash across his skin. He was back in Minrathous. He could see St. Dorian and the Bull up ahead with… with himself.

The amulet!

Felix’s eyes widened as he remembered the explosion. Any second now the street would transform into an inferno of fire and debris. In desperation, Felix pushed back past the surging crowd, kicking open the door to the first house he came to. He could see a pair of elves in the middle of packing. “Quick! Is there a cellar? We need to get to safety now!” He didn’t know what must be going through their minds to see a crazy shem breaking into their house and demanding they all get into the cellar, but they didn’t question him. They quickly led him downstairs. And not a second too soon. Dust fell from the ceiling and coated them in a fine layer as the house shook and the sounds of gaatlok exploded outside.

Felix knew St. Dorian and the Bull would not survive, he had held St. Dorian’s skull in his own hand, but he still hoped.

As soon as the bombing stopped, Felix carefully picked his way outside. 

It was a sea of rubble and corpses. Panic laced his heart. How would he find the amulet now? Desperate, he got down on his knees and started lifting rocks, not bothering to pay attention to the two elves as they climbed up after him. They tugged on his sleeve. “Sir, we have to move. What are you doing?” One of them asked.

“He’s gone mad. Leave him. We need to get out of here.”

Felix didn’t even notice when they left. He had to find that amulet. He continued searching. His palms were cut and bruised from digging through the rubble and broken glass. Two of his fingernails had ripped off, but he couldn’t stop. This might be his only chance.

“Felix! Felix!”

With a startled jolt, he realized Dorian was standing next to him, Marina wobbling on her feet and clutching his robes to keep steady. The Iron Bull was standing ready a few feet away. His back was a scorched mass, but other than that he seemed well. Dorian’s barrier had held. “Thank the Maker, you’re alright. Come on, I’ve got Alexius’s original amulet. It’s at the villa.”

“Forget it,” the Bull said. “That side of the city will be crawling with soldiers. It’s lost.”

“I can’t just leave Korinna and Fendrel and the others! Besides, Keresaand is there and we need him. I’ve got no mana left and no lyrium potions, and you’re not going to last long either.”

The Bull muttered something and Felix could just make out the words “that saarebas.”

“Bull, not now. If we all survive this, you two can spend the rest of your lives arguing to your heart’s content,” Dorian snapped.

“And to do that we need to leave. Now. The others can get out using the tunnel, but we won’t be able to make it back home. I know you’re worried about them, but you need to think about Marina.”

“Fine, fine,” Dorian sighed as he picked up the girl again, his arms straining with exhaustion. “We can get out through the slums. The roads are too small and tightly packed for the Qunari to be able to move through quickly or in numbers… Felix?”

Felix tried to hold on, he really did. But by now he had learned that he had no control over where and when the magic took him.

* * *

The next time Felix became aware of his surroundings, he was lying in another field. A little cottage stood just over the hill, smoke billowing out from its chimney. There were children playing in the yard and goats grazing in a pasture.

The kids stopped their play the minute they spotted him. They ran inside, calling for their mother. Then the matriarch of this small brood stepped out, staff in hand, and Felix had to strain his neck to look at her. She was human, or at least mostly human, with thick black hair that was just beginning to gray at her temples and dark brown skin. She was the tallest woman he had ever seen, almost seven feet, with gleaming white horns that spiraled towards the sky.

The first thing he blurted out was, “My sister has a rack just like yours.”

The woman stared down at him and Felix could feel the blush creep up his neck as he realized just what exactly he had said. “I mean, not your-! Your horns! I meant your horns! Augh-”

She laughed and Felix thank the Maker for small mercies. He was fairly certain she could crush him in the palm of her hand, with or without magic.

“My name is Felix Bullock. Is there an Inquisition camp stationed anywhere near here?”

The woman shook her head, confusion marring her face. “The Inquisition disbanded many years ago. Didn’t you know?”

“No, that’s not possible. Every time I disappeared, I always reappeared somewhere near them. They’re like… an anchor. They must be nearby.”

Felix could see the understanding dawning in her dark eyes. “Oh, you’re him! Father and Tama told me all about you! Come inside, I have something to show you.”

The kids peeked out from inside the house as they watched him approach with their mother. “Don’t be rude,” their mother said, shooing them off with a wave of her hand. “Felix, go take your brother and sisters outside.”

“Felix?”

“Oh yes, he’s my oldest. Father told me he once knew two good men named Felix in his life and I wanted my son to be a good man. The name fit. Forgive me, I haven’t told you my name. It’s Marina.”

“Marina? Then you’re-”

Marina smiled. “Oh, yes. I’m afraid you just missed Father. He’s gone to Antiva for the upcoming autumn. The cold doesn’t suit his arthritis.”

“And the Iron Bull?”

“That silly old man is on another job!” Marina sniffed. “He’ll throw out his back and come limping back home. He says he’s mostly there for the intimidation. Nothing is scarier then a giant Qunari breathing down your neck. And yet, he always manages to find himself in trouble. He’s worse than the children! If everything goes alright, he’ll be joining Father in Antiva before coming back down here in the spring.”

Felix watched as Marina began rummaging through drawers and cabinets. With a cry of triumph, she pulled out a very familiar looking amulet.

“But I thought it was lost in Minrathous!” Felix protested.

“It was. This is a replica. Father spent years making it, just in case you ever returned. Don’t look so shocked, he helped Alexius build the first one. Now stand still. I’ve never actually attempted this before.”

“Oh, that’s just per-” Felix started, before he was enveloped in a green light.

* * *

Felix blinked as he stared up at the faces of Cara and Professor d'Auvergne.

“Thank the Maker! I don’t know what I’d do if another of my students died,” Professor d'Auvergne said as he climbed to his feet.

“What happened?” He asked.

“We don’t know,” Cara answered with a shrug. “We came in and saw you lying on the ground, unconscious. Are you alright?”

“I… think so,” Felix breathed. “Yes, yes, I’m okay. Just a nasty shock. Not all of the enchantments had worn off on those amulets.”

Cara reached down and grasped his arm, helping to haul him to his feet. “You should still get checked out. You might have a head injury. Oh, the team’s done their initial scan of the bones.”

“And?”

“Not St. Dorian. The skeleton belongs to a man of about sixty-five and lived a hard life. Probably a former slave.”

“And the child’s?”

“We ran tests. Full-blooded elf. We’ve got a match with Adult Female Elf 2. Sisters.” Cara sighed. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find out what happened to St. Dorian.”

“Well, maybe he lived a quiet, happy life in the country,” Felix said as they made their way slowly down the hall.


End file.
